Grantaire snored and extended his leg. The scratch against the mattress startled her and propelled her upright.
Blinking in the moonlight, Eponine took in the familiar space. Grantaire's clothes cascaded from a moving box, giving the illusion of a river. His tackle box of art supplies and canvases were leaning on the wall near the window, outlines and curves casting strange shadows on the floor.
Eponine's worldly possessions were in the next room, untouched and neatly packed away. Her delegated space was much too large, and it was safer here.
Next to Grantaire, she remembered.
Who she was, what they had endured, why they left and where they were.
Watching his chest rise and fall, Eponine slowly lowered herself to the mattress. Curling an arm under her head for a pillow, she pulled back the quilt and shifted closer to Grantaire until her forehead met his cheek.
Still sleeping, Grantaire curled towards her. His arm wrapped around her back automatically and her head tucked nicely under his chin.
How many times had they laid this way?
If Gavroche were here, he could do the math. Numbers were one of few constants in his life. Grief flooded her senses, and Eponine fought against it. Preferring to breath, she focused on matching her breaths with Grantaire's. Their breathing synced and it was no wonder they survived for so long.
When they were little, new to the foster care system and innocent to the Thenardiars' horrors, they were mistaken for twins. Eponine had an eerie ability to tell when Grantaire was angry and about to have a tantrum. Equal to her talent, Grantaire was capable of standing up to 'Ponine and persuading her to share, a feat no other foster sibling could claim.
She shivered, and Grantaire squeezed her protectively. Her body felt strange, and Eponine knew she was leaving. Her mind slipped back in time and flashbacks infiltrated all five of her senses.
The breaking in 'ceremony'. Grantaire had been 8. Scrawny for his age, and perpetually dirty since bathing opportunities were scarce. Thenardiar used a beer bottle, slick with spit. Grantaire screamed and Eponine's cracked heart shattered in to a thousand shards.
His eyes. Full of fire and fear had dulled by the end. In many ways, it was just the beginning. The beginning of customers who emerged from the streets of Paris at night like shadows cast out of the woodwork.
Tremors wracked her frame like an addict riding out withdrawal and Eponine fought to breath.
She was 5 or 6? Age had never been a marker by which she defined herself. If anything, she used memories to approximate time. Sad anniversaries that dictated her life.
'Maman' threw her in an unused room for a time-out. She'd bitten an older girl for pulling her hair. Again.
Thenardiar snaked in to the room, his shadow taking up most of the space.
A dirty hand over her mouth.
Her teeth closed on bitter flesh, and a slap met her face.
His body heavy on hers, a hard mound dragging against her pelvis.
Clothes were ripped off and dread filled her every cell.
White-hot pain.
Blinding everything.
Grantaire's body woke first. His hand pressing against something shaking, damp and hot. Immediately he unraveled his limbs and held himself upright. His heart hammered in his ears and it took a minute to remember his whereabouts.
"'Ponine." He murmured.
Her legs contorted and she twisted against invisible restraints. Panic echoed her whimpers and Grantaire felt as helpless as he did every night since they were children.
"Eponine."
Scraping sounds caught Grantaire's attention and he choked back a sob. Eponine raked her nails over her chest and arms. The clawing became desperate, and intensified.
"Eponine, wake up. Wake up now!" His voice cracked. Wrought with anxiety, he fought to restrain her arms. Bile crept in to his mouth when his hands made contact with her hot skin, sticky with blood.
Despite Eponine's flinching and tremors, Grantaire managed to gather her in his arms. Clutching her arms to his chest Grantaire rocked her like a small child.
Gradually Eponine quieted and through lucid eyes recognized her surroundings.
"Hey there." Grantaire whispered, releasing her hands and shifting his friend in his lap.
"Breath. It's all right. We're safe 'Ponine."
Nodding, Eponine inhaled a shaky breath. She placed a hand near his heart and focused on the beat. It tethered her to this world.
Real. Real. Real. She repeated with each completed beat.
The moonlight cast their shadows against the wall. In that moment, Grantaire gleaned perspective. Their shadows appeared menacing, contorted into some ugly ferocious beast. From another angle, they were a huddled mass, clutching each other in honest agony.
Appearances were deceiving. You became what you showed to the world. Grantaire prayed this to be true. Eponine and he, they deserved a new beginning. A new apiece canvas, brushes, and paint to capture and choose their paths.